Blood is thicker than Water
by Fekete
Summary: Downpour. Which only reminded him more of the painful Revolution and the painfully nice words from his brother – the words he's never heard again. Shit. It was better before he had figured out his real reasons for being sad. Before he could just simply blame America. Stupid Scotland flirting with Prussia. Britaincest/Scotland x England


**Fandom**: Axis Powers Hetalia

**Pairing**: Britaincest, mentions of Spamano, implied one-sided!USUK and past!FrUK

**Warnings**: BL, boy x boy, incest

**Disclaimer**: I do **not** own Hetalia nor the characters.

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Every year it was the same. The downpour never failed to arrive at that day, the sun bidding its farewell to the British nation for a few days, sometimes weeks. People kept on rushing, murmuring and yelling at each other, their unhappiness never brightening the already gloomy days. Quite the opposite, really. Everything seemed even darker and quieter, the wind being the only one that found the strength to howl a dramatic melody of betrayal and confusion, reminding him about that day.

The fourth of July was Arthur's least favorite day of the year. Not because his little brother abandoned him on that day. No, England had been already long after that period of time, celebrating Alfred's birthday with him every year for the last twenty years. No, it had been his least favorite day of the year because every time he'd remember HIM of all people, showing him pity and seeing him at his worst. Every thunder that ever hit the ground on the fourth was so similar to his laughter, so similar to his bright, laughing green eyes.

And that was humiliating. Him, seeing Arthur at his worst. Taking pity on him. It made no sense. No sense at all.

After all, why, after years of hate and fights, after years of rejection and ignoring, why. Why would he suddenly come and hug him, saying that everything would be alright. Worse, why did Arthur feel so safe and comfortable and absolutely warm in the arms of a person he's detested, who he's hated for years. Why did he believe him? Him of all people. The one that's betrayed him more times than he could count. Why?

He hated that feeling. At first he was sure he missed his younger brother. Alfred. Alfred F. Jones, United States of America, the ungrateful bloody brat that had left him on that day. Cheerful young boy with bright blue eyes and messy blond hair. _It's not him_, Arthur's mind kept repeating, like a spell from prohibited magical books or a curse from ancient times. _It was never Alfred_. It was someone else. Someone that had arrived a few hours after the war's ended, someone who he's detested for years. Red hair, even darker after the downpour reminded him of the blood that had spilled that day and of the endless fire that burnt his heart. His sharp green eyes pierced through his soul, reading all of his emotions, pity, sadness and worry clearly visible in them. The frown that never seemed to leave his face back then. His smooth voice that reached Arthur's sensitive ears. It was him. He had saved and killed him that day. He was the one who picked up small pieces of his heart and stole some of them, keeping them away from their rightful owner, at the same time stopping England from ever falling in love again.

"Brother" British nation's whisper disappeared in the dramatic melody of the wind, a single tear that rolled down his cheek could easily be mistaken for a raindrop. "I want to see you" he hugged himself tightly, his chest soaking even more when completely wet arms tightened around him. "I want to see you so much"

**XxXxX**

Arthur had woken up to voices in his house, all of them familiar and not really pleasant to listen to right now. Was it still the fourth? Maybe it was already the day after? Had he taken away his heart already? _Yes. 236 years ago_. England laughed to himself bitterly, his reflection portraying only one messy Brit. With a sigh he stood up and stalked to the bathroom, his footsteps heavy against the soft, forest green carpet.

He forgot. He forgot that he was supposed to celebrate Alfred's birthday with American boy yesterday. Jones especially asked him at least six times if he was sure that he could come. He swore to everything and anything that he would, so the bloody git should stop annoying him. He forgot to go. He forgot to erase the smiling Scotsman from his hazy memory. He forgot to erase his feelings for his older brother. _Again_.

"Arthur! Are you there? Come down will ya! I know you are awaake~" Arthur sighed. He had to think of an excuse. He didn't want to deal with an obnoxious American boy right now, nor with an annoying Frenchman.

His gaze flickered towards the mirror in front of him, his eyes staring at his own reflection. His dirty blond hair were even messier than usual, making him look less appealing than ever before. His eyes were red from crying, the light in them dull. They made him look like dead. So his current appearance pretty much reflected how he felt inside.

Honestly, he knew it was stupid of him to feel that way, especially towards someone he shouldn't love, ever. Out of so many people and nations, after loving Francis for ages, how could just one smile from his oldest brother make him go weak in the knees, his heart tightening cruelly, butterflies flying happily inside his stomach.

"Iggy?" a soft voice sounded behind the doors, snapping him out of his daze. His cheeks burnt, matching his brother's hair.

"Y-yes. I just want to take a shower so-"

"Alrighty~. We'll be waitin downstairs!" England smiled slightly, listening to America's loud steps. He had to take care of himself. There's no way he could let Alfred worry about him and ask all of the most embarrassing questions. There was only one time when American saw him crying and that would be his last. It could not be repeated.

Slowly, Arthur undressed himself from his unpleasantly damp clothes and walked into the shower, warm water splattering against his cold skin. He shuddered, enjoying the sudden warmth that spread though his body

"_Eejit. Stop weepin already. Yer not that weak, are ya, wee brother?_" Arthur's eyes snapped open, his heartbeat quickening dangerously. The voice he's longed for, the words he's wanted to hear so many times, desperately, yearning for them, only to be caught off guard every time his mind produced them. He laughed quietly to himself, warm water suddenly reminding him of that day.

"You're so bloody mean, brother. Always teasing me whenever I'm down. That's so like you" Englishman stepped out of the shower, quickly drying himself with a fluffy violet towel – a present from Catherine, the Duchess of Cambridge. She was a lovely woman with the brightest of smiles. She was a charming companion as well and she's made Williams happy. That was everything that mattered.

With the last check in the mirror, Arthur's left the bathroom and slowly made his way down the stairs, ready to meet migraine with open arms. After all, that's what going down to these people meant. Headache, annoyance, irritation, frustration, anger, and a way to escape his brother's teasing voice.

"Ooh, finally! We were worried you've drowned in that shower somehow!" Alfred joked, sending him his most charming smile.

"Oui, everything is possible with you, Sourcils" English nation glared at both of them. He wasn't inside for even thirty second and they've already started. Taking in a deep breath, that made both the American and the Frenchman snicker, he's made his way towards his teapot, ready to pour himself a big cup of warm tea.

"So why exactly weren't you yesterday at my place, Artie? You promised!" youngest of them all whined, sending Arthur an accusing look.

"I felt sick" England said quietly, his eyes gazing outside of the window. It's not like he's lied. He hadn't. He was feeling really bad. His heart ached and he wanted to call his brother one thousand and fifty-four times. As soon as he repressed these feelings, he's started crying and ended up going outside on the downpour. Which only reminded him more of the painful Revolution and the painfully nice words from his brother – the words he's never heard again. Shit. It was better before he had figured out his real reasons for being sad. Before he could just simply blame America. But no, of course not. Stupid Scotland flirting with Prussia.

"Mon cher, are you still with us?" Francis' concerned voice snapped him out of his thoughts, his cheeks reddening yet again. "Mon Dieu, your face is so red!"

"What? Iggy, you're seriously ill! Oh my God, dude! That's-"

"I-I'm not. And stop with these ridiculous nicknames. I'm just… tired. With the preparations to Olympics and everything. It's tiresome so... I don't get too much sleep" Alfred breathed a sigh of relief, sitting on the chair again and starting his pointless blabbering, while Francis shot him a look. Bloody bastard.

"But guess what! Portugal and even your brother came!" Arthur's eyes widened, his ears picking up that particular part of Alfred's long story about his birthday party. Apparently, England wasn't the only one that didn't show up. Romano and Spain were both absent, probably due to their wedding coming up shortly. Japan, Taiwan and Hungary also didn't make it, their excuse being 'a new yaoi magazine coming out'. As soon as Greece noticed that Kiku was absent, he's also fled.

"W-what?" he asked, cursing his voice that had stuttered slightly. Francis hadn't missed that, sending him a confused look.

"Yeah! Dude, I was so surprised! He's left as soon as I told him you weren't there though. Weirdo. What the heck is wrong with him and Greece anyway? It was MY birthday and they came for you and Kiks. And Mattie was constantly flirting with that annoying Prussian asshole. What the he- Art? Dude, that's creepy" Arthur bowed his head slightly, trying to hide his smile with his hand. Damn Scotland, making his heart flutter and him act like a lovesick schoolgirl.

"Say, Sourcils, how long has it been since you've last seen your frère?" Alfred looked at the two curiously, not really understanding the question that was meant to be understood only between the two ex-lovers. H_ow long has it been since you and Scotland had last had a nice chat?_

"The day after your greatest betrayal towards me" _the day after our break up_. Francis' eyes widened.

"You talked back then? Is he the reason why…?" _why you've never forgiven me? Why you've never loved me back again? Why you've never loved anyone ever again?_ Arthur smiled sadly, nodding his head.

"Yeah" their eyes met and it was the first time in a long time that Francis saw a sparkle of love in Brits' eyes. It had been a long time.

"What are you talking about?" Alfred demanded, cutting in before either of the two could say anything else. Francis glanced at him with pity. He's known about younger boy's love towards Arthur for a very long time already. It was mostly the reason why he's decided to help him during Revolutionary War. To get him away from the Briton. Because he could have been very dangerous for their relationship. But really, helping the dumb American didn't make him any good. He's lost his lover's heart to _Scotland_, his lover's brother. Wasn't that just simply ironic?

"Does he know?" England's 'love spark' disappeared without trace. France nodded with understanding. That was pretty self-explanatory.

**XxXxXx**

_Arthur sat on the ground, heart wrenching sobs escaping his mouth. Bitter tears mixed with rain and the blood of his soldiers, gunpowder slowly being washed away by mother nature's crying. In the background, America slowly and hesitantly walked away, leaning for support on Spain's shoulder. _

_He wasn't sure how long he sat there, his cries partly out sounded by the wailing wind playing its' tragic song and the rain, which seemed to fall even harder after all these hours. Humans were slowly retreating, the ones who still had strength carried the hurt ones. _

"_Eejit. Stop weepin already. Yer not that weak, are ya, wee brother?" England stiffened at the voice, his sobbing dying down in his throat. Even in the heavy rain and melodic wind he could hear the clatter of the other's boots, clearly getting closer. Arthur bit his lip, before squeezing his eyes tightly shut, expecting the pain that was sure to come as soon as his brother would reach him. It happened every single time he had failed in the past. There was no way it wouldn't happen now. Now that he had lost one of their colonies. "Look at me, wee loon." Loon. Boy. Not bastard, git or anything else. Just a loon._

_Hesitantly, hopeless, watery green met the strong, fierce green. England was surprised, to say at least. Before him stood his brother. His brother that always hit him, even if he didn't have a reason to. Before him stood Scotland, tall and proud, without even a bit of disappointment in the windows to his soul. Scotland, Allistor Kirkland, with a small frown on his young handsome face. England's older brother that looked at him with pity, sadness and _worry_. The one he had detested and the one that had detested him most. _

_Arthur's breath hitched as Scotland crouched down beside him and slowly embraced him, strong arms of the Scotsman tightening around Englishman's fragile figure. His hot breath burnt England's ear and face. But it felt so right. The want to cry was overwhelming but suddenly he felt like everything would be okay. _

"_Ye can cry" as if listening to Allistor's orders, the tears started falling off of Arthur's eyes like waterfalls, salty drops soaking Scot's clothes along with the water. He gripped redhead's shirt tightly, his whole body shaking from the cold and the sobs escaping his lips. Allistor's hand gently caressed his hair. It all felt so unreal. Being there together like that, the both of them. One crying, other touching him carefully, as if he was afraid that he could harm or break English boy if he had pressed too hard. _

"_Stoap acting like a big jessy or ah'll hit ye" much to his own surprise, Arthur smiled through his tears, his hands sneaking up behind Scotland's neck. _

"_Aye" Allistor stood up abruptly, one of his arms holding England's back securely, while the other supported his legs. "W-what are yo-"_

"_Carryin' ya home. Now wheesh'd" _

_During their slow returning trip, Arthur's tears dried up, his shaking stopping a long time ago. A sudden wave of sleepiness hit him, his green eyes falling dangerously. But he couldn't sleep. He – no matter how much he hated that – had to thank his older brother for taking him home. What he couldn't understand, though, was why his chest felt so tight and warm. He sneaked a glance at the man that was carrying him bridal style – how embarrassing, Arthur thought with burning cheeks. It was probably the very first time when they had talked normally since their unification. Scotland's face had matured slightly, the frown disappearing completely. There were some small scars near his pierced ear, he's noticed. Something must have happened to him. And he didn't tell Arthur. It's not like it was anything new, but somehow, the sudden thought saddened him greatly. _

_What was wrong with him, really? Had the war against that bloody American bastard broke his heart AND made him lose his mind? That thought was simply unnerving. _

"_Ompf" England whimpered, rubbing his head in the place it hit the hard mattress. "Scotland, what the bloody hell are you-" his voice caught in his throat as he observed the growing smirk on Scotsman's face. _

"_There ya go, being a rude prick again" Arthur blinked, staring at his brother with flushed cheeks. He had used magic for sure! Since he felt so much better already. "Don't act like a big jessy ever again or ah'll have to kick yer arse" _

"_Oh no you bloody wouldn't, you wanker!" Scotland smirked leaning in and whispering into Englishman's ear with his soft voice_

"_Ye never loved that rocket nor Frenchie. It was me since Rough Wooing, poppet" before Arthur could pry the blush off of his face or argue that no, he did __**not**__ love his brother in _**that**_ way, Allistor pulled away slightly, only to crush their lips together. _

_Eyes going wide, Arthur tried to push him away, but the Scotsman simply pushed him onto the bed, which quickly resulted in England being overpowered. And, much to Arthur's horror, he's enjoyed that. Having his brother's warm lips on his own, tasting the cigarettes and beer, their bodies tightly against each other. However as suddenly as it had begun, it had ended just as abruptly. Allistor pulled away with a smirk, licking his lips and staring at his younger brother's blushing face with animalistic eyes. _

"_Always me. Ya be a good boy now" and with these words he got up from Arthur's bed – leaving him a poor, confused mess – and walked out from the room. _

**XxXxXxX**

Waking up after such a dream, only to see the exact same person you've just dreamed about sitting on the chair next to your bed was **not** something Arthur was enjoying. Not in the slightest, really. Especially since that certain someone was reading one of your favorite books – Hamlet – and smirking wickedly.

"Allistor! What in the name of the Lady are you doing here, you git? How did you get in?" green eyes looked at him with amusement, scanning his body from head to toes, Scotland's smirk growing bigger with every second. Arthur blushed a bright red, quickly looking for some pants, as he felt way too exposed in his dark blue boxers.

"Yer doors were easy ta break" it took a second for him to realize what exactly had been said just now.

"WHAT? Scotland, you bloody arsehole, if you broke my doors-"

"So I have" redhead answered smugly, the smoke from his cigarette flying straight into Arthur's face. England frowned with irritation, hoping desperately that Scotland couldn't hear the mini explosions that his heart was doing inside of his chest.

"What do you want? America said you were looking for me yesterday"

"So I was" Arthur's eye twitched dangerously. This was exactly what happened day after their, ah, kiss. They started arguing about silly things and started pretending that nothing had ever happened. And it had been like that for the past blasted 236 years.

"And WHY?"

"Money. This thing's funny every time I read it" Scotland pointed to an old book, throwing it behind him. England clenched his jaw, repressing the urge to shout with agony 'Nooo! Not Hamlet!'.

"I've no money. And I have no time for your childish antics, Scotland. I have a meeting to attend with-"

"Wee Rocket, I know" Arthur was about to argue about calling Alfred something like 'Rocket', but stopped as soon as he noticed the distance between himself and his older brother. Their noses were basically touching! "And I don't want ya to go. Wee rocket likes you a little bit too much. No one can touch what's mine" the Scotsman licked his lips, his eyes staring into Arthur's. Much to his pleasure and England's horror, the younger of the two shuddered.

"Allistor, stop" he mumbled, trying to look away, but finding himself unable to, too enchanted with the eyes he's grown to love so much.

"Ya still haven't realized, have ya, poppet? That yer mine"

"I'm n-" his brother's lips managed to silence him. Arthur wanted to melt into the kiss, the affection he's been yearning for years. He wanted to hold the other tightly, kiss him the whole time till they got drunk from their kisses. Confess his love in-between. Love and be loved. But the more rational part of him knew better than that, his shaky hands pushing the other away "Al, stop! Dammit, stop!"

"Nah" the Scotsman pressed another quick kiss to blond head's lips, before moving on to other parts of his face. First his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids, his jaw.

"Scotland, you bloody-"

"Yer cute but put up"

"No I will not because-"

"Ya think I don't love ye, eh?" Allistor pulled away with a kind smile that really scared Arthur to no end. Scotland did not _smile_. He smirked, but not _**smiled**_. "That's why yer stupid" England was ready to yell at him again, before he was pulled into a hug "Ah'ament repeatin that, poppet, so listen properly. Ya were the only one in our family that didn't know I loved ya, aye? Who do ya think took care of the annoying Prussian and Dane loons that tried to hit on ya? Or that Russian dobber"

"Wh-"

"And ya were the only one that didn't feel the kisses ah've given you. Yer lips are tasty at nights" with that statement, Scotsman turned around and walked out the door, leaving the dumbstruck Englishman behind him. Suddenly, it hit him. Scotland said he's loved him. He loved _**him**_. So maybe- wait. Kisses? At night?

"ALLISTOR YOU BASTARD! SO IT WAS YOU! YOU OWE ME TWENTY THREE DOORS!" and with that the tale of the Englishman and his brother continues, their bond stronger with every moment. After all, blood is thicker than water.

* * *

-**Information**-

Eejit – Scottish slang for 'idiot'

Sourcils – fr. 'Eyebrows'

Wee loon – Scottish slang for 'little boy'

Stoap acting like a big jessy or ah'll hit ye – Scottish slang for 'Stop acting like a girl/wimp or I'll hit you' … or something similar. I think. I'm sorry, I'm not sure ***bows***

wheesh'd – Scottish slang for 'Hush'

rocket – Scottish slang for 'idiot'

The Rough Wooing - a conflict between Scotland and England (1543-1550); War was declared by Henry VIII of England, in an attempt to force the Scots to agree to a marriage between his son Edward and the infant Mary, Queen of Scots. Scotland benefited from French military aid, under the Auld Alliance. Edward VI continued the war until changing circumstances made it irrelevant in 1550. It was the last major conflict between Scotland and England before the Union of the Crowns in 1603, excepting perhaps the English intervention at the Siege of Leith in 1560, and was part of the Anglo-Scottish Wars of the 16th century.

Ah'ament – Scottish slang for 'I'm not'

Dobber – Scottish slang for 'idiot'

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**A/N: Aww, man. It really didn't turn out like I wanted it to *sigh*. And I'm sorry for the failed, and later on lack, of Scottish accent. I've given up halfway with it, haha xD. Sorry if I got something wrong from Scottish slang too. And if the characters were OOC. OTL forgive me. Thank you for reading~**


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